There's a special kind of magic that happens when you share a book with a child. It's a magic I've known before. First, with my own children, and now with Roland. As I sit with him nestled in my lap, a book open between us, I can't help but feel the circle of life turning in the sweetest way.
Roland's mom, the original Annie — not the porcupine — loved listening to me read when she was little. Her face would light up with every new story, and she especially loved when I used different voices for each character. I can still hear her giggle when I made the villain's voice extra grumpy or gave the hero a high-pitched, little squeak. Those moments were special, building a love for stories that would stay with her long after she outgrew my lap.
Now, I see that same spark in Roland's eyes. They say children learn to read on the laps of adults, and I believe that with my whole heart. These moments are where the journey begins, where words become more than just sounds and stories become windows to whole new worlds. It's about creating memories just like the ones I made with Annie. Someday, he might not remember every story we read, but he'll remember how it felt to be wrapped up in love, safe in my arms, with a book between us.
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